


The Romance of the Century

by sullymygoodname



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2020-06-26 00:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullymygoodname/pseuds/sullymygoodname
Summary: Little slice-of-life snippets throughout their relationship. (I was tempted to call this A Series of Unfortunate Events, but that has more serious connotations, I think.)





	1. that time alexis came home from the galapagos

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from [Papa Was A Rodeo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fllQTBPDalk) by the Magnetic Fields.
> 
> I’ve been writing these little scenes as sort of an exercise to help me practice the character voices, working out their individual speech patterns and how they interact with each other. I thought I’d share them just because, but be warned these are not a continuing story and I’m not posting them in chronological order. I’m posting them as I write them. They will, eventually, be ordered chronologically in a timeline, but they’re more like little slice-of-life snippets. (This first snippet is actually probably chapter, like, 5 or 6?)

**that time alexis came home from the galapagos**

* * *

Alexis has been back from the Galapagos for, like, three and a half minutes and already David is having hysterics at her and it's not even her fault, nothing would have happened if he'd just let her—

"Just stop, stop it, David." She whaps him on the arm with the back of her hand and he stops trying to jam his fingers down the sink drain. "You're making it worse."

"How?! How could it possibly get worse?"

"What's going on?"

They both whirl around in the tight space of the motel bathroom to find Patrick standing in the doorway.

"I knocked," he says, hooking his thumb over his shoulder toward the room's door, "but I guess you couldn't hear me. Everything okay?"

Alexis smiles brightly. "Yyyeeaaahh. Yep! Great. I just got home."

Patrick nods, his lips thinning but curving and Alexis is never sure if that's supposed to be a smile or not. Patrick looks to her brother then, eyebrows high. "David?"

"Alexis flushed your ring down the toilet!" he screeches, hands clenched and eyes squinched.

Alexis gasps and whaps him on the shoulder this time. "I dropped it down the sink, David!"

"And then you flushed the toilet for some unknown, godforsaken reason!"

"Because Dad said sometimes the toilet backs up the sink!"

David blocks her whap this time and his fingers curl like he wants to grab her wrists, but Patrick steps in closer to him even though there is _not_ enough space in this bathroom for all three of them.

And then Patrick's face does that thing it does when he looks at David, going all soft and gooey. _Ew._

"You got me a ring?" he asks, and that's definitely a smile. He slides his arms around David's waist, and then _David's_ face is doing something that Alexis can barely look at. This bathroom is too small.

"Of course," David says, softly, his hands on Patrick's shoulders. "But now it's lost forever in the disgusting sewer because Alexis—"

"Oh my god, David!" She whaps him again, just lightly on the elbow, more like a tap really. "I just wanted to see what you chose. If you hadn't tried to grab it out of my hands—"

"If _you_ hadn't flown in here like some sort of lost, tropical bird—"

"Hey, wait," Patrick interrupts, physically standing between them to peer into the sink. "It's probably just stuck in the pipe. Maybe we can still get it out."

"Do you think?" Alexis asks, hopefully.

"If all the flushing hasn't flushed it out to sea."

"We're nowhere near the sea, David," Patrick says, and leans up to give him a quick kiss.

"How do you get it out of the pipe, though? Because it really is the perfect ring. David chose well. For once."

"Capsize in a boat, Alexis."

"I know David chose the perfect ring," Patrick says, one hand on David's face, and leans up to kiss him again. "We'll get it back. Do you guys know how to shut the water off to your bathroom?" He looks between the two of them staring silently back at him, and makes a scrunchy-mouth face. "I'll ask your da—" He pauses, looks to the side. "I'll go check with Stevie. And see if she has some tools. Be right back."

He turns around to go back out the doorway, still holding one of David's hands, stretching their arms between them until eventually they both have to let go. David is watching him walk away. Alexis doesn't always _get_ Patrick, but he gets David and that's good enough for her.

When David catches her watching him, she smiles at him because everything worked out fine. David throws his hands up and huffs across the motel room to his bed.

"Oh my god, Alexis, did your suitcases _breed_ while you were on those islands?!"

* * *


	2. that time david and patrick needed to move

**that time david and patrick needed to move**

* * *

Patrick nearly knocks the hot pan off the stove when he hears a high-pitched shriek over the sound of running water, and he hopes that David hasn’t gotten scalded. It doesn’t happen often, but he’s learned that the pipes in his building are… not great.

A half second later, David comes streaking, naked, out of the bathroom, yelling, "There's a spider! There's a spider! A huge, gross, hairy spider in the shower! In the _shower_ , Patrick, and it _touched me_."

"Oh god. Okay." Patrick abandons his breakfast on the stove and goes to David. "Okay, come here. You’re dripping all over the rug." He pulls David, flinging droplets of water everywhere, into the kitchen where he can leave a puddle on the floorboards instead. "Is it… still on you?"

" _What_?! No! No! I don’t know! Is it? Oh my god get it off! Get it off!" David shakes his head and shimmies his shoulders, dancing around with his hands up near his ears.

"Hold still," Patrick tells him, grabbing David's hands and moving them out of the way, then running his fingers through David’s wet hair and down over his damp shoulders, water trickling paths in his wake. "I think you’re fine. I don’t see anything."

David lets out a sound halfway between a whine and a cry of relief, shaking his whole body out like a wet dog. Wiping water off his own face, Patrick tries very hard not to laugh.

"You okay now?" he asks, and David slinks deeper into the kitchen putting Patrick firmly between him and the bathroom door.

"It's still _in there_ ," he says, with his shoulders hunched up, dancing from foot to foot like a toddler who has to pee.

Patrick looks between David and the bathroom. "So, you want me to go take care of it then?"

"I can't kill things when I'm naked, Patrick!" David cries, standing up straight and gesturing to his entire, very naked body, shaking water everywhere.

With a hand over his mouth to hide his smile, Patrick says, "Okay. Okay. I'll get it. I'm gonna get it. Just—here." He grabs the dish towel off the rail and shoves it at David, who takes it between two fingers, his other hand on his hip and head cocked to one side.

Laughing, Patrick ventures into the bathroom. At first, he doesn’t see anything. David left the shower running, so he moves to shut the tap, trying not to get even more wet, when he sees it.

"Jeez!" Patrick jumps back out of the way. It _is_ huge, clinging to the ledge along the wall of the shower. He should have grabbed a shoe or something to hit it with. He ends up using a shampoo bottle and it takes three whacks before the spider’s hairy legs are curling around its small, round body. Patrick fishes it out of the tub with a wad of toilet paper and sends it swirling down into a watery grave.

He walks out of the bathroom, feeling triumphant, and finds David still standing there, shivering in the kitchen, holding the dish towel delicately in front of his crotch. Patrick reaches out, yanks the towel from David’s fingers—" _Hey!_ "—and wipes his hands.

"It's gone. I flushed it." He chucks the wet dish towel into the open bathroom door, to be thrown in with the rest of their dirty laundry.

"There could be more," David whispers, creeping up into Patrick’s space and tugging at his hands. "It could have thousands of babies living in the drain just waiting to crawl out and feast on my naked flesh!"

Patrick tangles their fingers together and reels David in. "No one else is allowed to feast on your naked flesh," he says, with his mouth on David’s neck, tasting the damp skin and residual rosemary and mint of his body wash. David starts to sway into him, but then pushes him away.

"Patrick. My hair," David whines, and yes, yes, if he doesn’t finish his shower soon he’ll have to start the process all over from the beginning. He’ll probably do that anyway.

"I can run water down the drain, wash all the spiders out."

"And murder all the babies?" David asks, and Patrick pauses halfway back into the bathroom. David makes shooing motions at him. "Yes, yes, murder them!"

A minute later, Patrick comes back out with a bath towel to wipe up the puddles on the floor. "Okay, I ran water and poured a little bleach down the drain. Now we only have to worry about their eight-legged ghosts."

David steps around him so that Patrick can get to the water pooling under his feet. "We have to move now. I'll never feel safe in here again."

"We are moving," Patrick says, balling up the wet bath towel and tossing that back into the bathroom, too. "Eventually." He goes to David, hands settling on his waist. "But, David, I hate to break it to you, there are spiders everywhere."

"Why—why would you say that to me?" David rears his head back, but still drapes his arms over Patrick’s shoulders.

"Because I don’t think we’ll be able to find a spider-free place in Schitt’s Creek. Or anywhere else." Patrick leans in and David meets him for a kiss.

They’d only just finished moving all of David’s things into his apartment, _their_ apartment. ‘Things’ being mostly his clothes because that’s really all David owns. And most of them still don’t fit in here. They’d agreed that they would focus on the wedding first, then begin the search for a new place after they’re married. But Patrick has secretly been looking, anyway, and he knows that, secretly, David has been, as well.

"Why are you calm?" David asks, pulling back from the kiss. "You hate spiders, too."

"I don't hate them. I don't like them in my house, no," Patrick concedes. "It's just kind of easier to deal with them when you're being hysterical."

"Okay, I wouldn't say hysterical."

"You're the one flapping around the kitchen naked."

"Well, you've seen me naked."

"Yes I have." Patrick grins at him, and hauls him close for another kiss. He lets David go and moves back over to the stove to finish his breakfast. "It's safe in there now, I promise."

He definitely should have turned the stove off before dealing with the spider. His oatmeal is a big, hard clump now. David is still standing behind him, wavering in place but not moving back toward the bathroom. Patrick turns around to look at him.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" he asks.

"That's not necessary," David says, waving his hand in the air. Then his face scrunches up and he comes over to pluck at Patrick’s t-shirt. "But yes, please."

"Okay." Patrick chuckles. "Let me just…" He takes the pan off the stove and scrapes the contents into the garbage under the sink. "This is gross now."

"It's oatmeal, so isn't it always?" David saunters past him, and Patrick swats him lightly on the ass. David yelps, laughing, and reaches back to grab a fistful of Patrick’s t-shirt and tug him through the bathroom door.

Showering takes a lot longer than usual this morning.

* * *


	3. that time they went to the beach (it's a lake, patrick)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This snippet takes place before the other snippets posted so far! (I’ll re-order them sometime in the future.)
> 
> Extra special thanks to the residents of the Rosebudd Motel for all your input and inspiration!
> 
> For David’s look, he’s wearing [this hat](https://manrepeller-wpengine.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/VO0819_COVER_without_coverlines.jpg) and sort of [this caftan](https://www.barneys.com/product/saint-laurent-gauzy-lace-caftan-506041009.html?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_content=Product-Type-womens-cover-up-dresses&utm_keyword=PRODUCT_GROUP&utm_campaign=BNY-PLA-US-GGL-NB-Product-Type_PSP&gclid=EAIaIQobChMIocH4wvio5AIVxcDACh3nlwAqEAQYASABEgKh0fD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds) but with tassels, because, and a pair of _very_ small black shorts underneath.

**that time they went to the beach (it's a lake, patrick)**

* * *

Summer is technically over, if one were to look at a calendar, but it's still hot enough to feel like mid-July, so Patrick's baseball friends decided to have a day at the beach ("It's a lake, Patrick.") and they invited Ronnie's team, and anyone else in town who wanted to go, as well. David acquiesced, as long as Stevie agreed to come, too, and as long as he doesn't have to touch anything, like dirt, or sand, or lake water. He and Stevie set up their shade tent (And by 'he and Stevie,' he means Patrick and Stevie, and by that, he means Patrick.) in a grassy area just outside of the... shoreline, their lounge chairs on top of the heavy beach blanket that covers the grass and dirt, not touching the sand.

Somewhere... away from David's chosen spot, Roland and his father are setting up a grill for burgers and other things. David wonders how long the food will take, and how much interaction with Roland it will require to obtain the food. Perhaps he can convince Patrick to get the food for him.

Patrick is currently running up and down the sandy area, playing some sort of game with a ball and a net and people falling on their knees a lot. Normally, David would approve. But. Sand.

However, Patrick is shirtless, which he doesn't do in public often. Or ever, as far as David can remember. He's all sweaty, jumping up to swat at the ball, his tragically large swim trunks hanging low on his hips. So very low.

"Wow," says Stevie next to him, and David turns to glare at her. He was thinking that exact thought. But then she continues, "How is he so white? I've never seen so much pale skin all at once. Not even when I look at myself naked."

"Why would you look at yourself naked?"

Stevie turns her head to face him. "Why would I not?"

David concedes the point. Stevie looks great naked.

"Honey!" he calls out to Patrick. "You need more sunscreen."

Patrick tosses the ball to one of the other players then ambles over, all sandy from the knees down.

"David, I'm covered head to toe. You already reapplied twice before we even got here." He starts to step onto the blanket, until David glares pointedly at the sand. Patrick bends down to brush as much as he can off his legs before crawling onto the blanket alongside David's lounger. "What about you? Need me to do your back."

"I'm good." He removed his hat once they set up the sun shade. _Not_ because Stevie said it made him look like his mother. His mother is always fashionable; one would be lucky to compare. Also, it's Alexis's hat, and she'd kill him if she knew he took it. Plus, any longer wearing it would result in hat hair and that's unacceptable.

"Are you going to keep this thing on the whole time?" Patrick asks, one finger playing with a tassel on David's black Saint Laurent caftan, gently brushing his lower thigh.

"Um, _this thing_ is protecting me from sun damage, thank you."

"Is it, though?" He traces that same finger along the lacy material over David's leg then up along his arm.

"It served me perfectly well when I was in Greece."

"I bet." Patrick smiles, then, and leans over to kiss David's cheek. "Are you really going to come all the way to the beach and not even go in the water?"

"Mkay, again, this is a lake, not a beach."

"Sand, sun, waves," Patrick says, gesturing to their, David admits, picturesque surroundings. "Looks like a beach to me."

"No, the last photo Alexis sent looked like a beach." But that was weeks ago, and she and Ted are still in the Galapagos, and apparently animal scientists have never heard of wi-fi so David has no idea how Alexis is doing now. He shakes his head. "I'm not having that argument again. _Second_ , I don't trust lake water. What if there are _fish_?"

"There are definitely fish," Patrick says, lips folding down yet turned up at the corners. "David, you've swum in oceans. There are fish in the ocean. And sharks. And jellyfish and other things with tentacles." He dances his fingers up along David's calf, over his knee, and beneath his caftan, just skimming the edge of his swim shorts. "There are no tentacles in Lake Huron," he says, leaning in close again.

"Mmhm, but what about the lake monsters?" David asks, running his hand over Patrick's bare shoulder and drawing him even closer.

"Oh, our lake monsters are gentle, peaceful vegetarians," Patrick assures him, mouth a mere whisper away from his. 

"I'm sure they don't like us invading," he says, with a kiss, "their placid waters, stirring up sand and trouble."

"Oh no, they like our trouble." Patrick pushes in, kissing David deeply, pressing him back into his lounge chair. His hands, both of them now, slide up David's bare thighs, under his caftan, and over his shorts. "If you got these legs in the water, I'm sure they'd enjoy the view."

"Oh, so they're pervy lake monsters." David grins into another kiss, slipping his hands over Patrick's shoulders.

" _Uugghhh_ ," Stevie groans, beside them. "You guys are gross. I'm going to go drown myself and haunt this lake for eternity." She pushes herself up out of her chair and wanders out into the sand toward Twyla, who now has the ball. For a second, David is very curious to see Stevie attempt to play a sport. She's wearing a solid black two-piece with little boyshorts and she looks very cute today. Sportier than her usual look.

"I forgot she was there," Patrick mumbles into David's neck, still partially draped over him.

"I think you forgot we were in public," David teases. Even through Patrick's ridiculous shorts, David can feel his arousal. The splash of scarlet across his cheeks isn't from the sun, either.

Patrick noses along his jaw for a second, but pulls away with a soft, quick kiss. "Come on," he says, "I want to see you swim. Show me those Olympic moves you picked up training with… who was it, again?"

"That's not important," David demurs, "but let's just say he was the first Canadian to appear in the hundred-meter final at the Olympics since Dick Pound." He lets that settle in the air between them, waiting for Patrick's face to crack. Patrick blinks back at him for a long minute before he ducks his head to hide the wide smile and stifle his laugh.

"Okay," Patrick chuckles, "so show me some… Dick moves."

David smacks his shoulder. "It _wasn't_ him. And we didn't do a whole lot of swimming, to be perfectly honest."

"All right." Patrick levers himself up, using the arm of David's chair to stand (he has to bend forward beneath the sun shade) and holds his hand out to David. "Come swim with me. Put those—tiny shorts to good use."

"Um, these are Marc Jacobs."

"I know," Patrick says, and David is pleased until he goes on, "you've told me three times. And don't say you don't want to get them wet. That's what they were designed for, David."

"I mean, I think they were designed to make me look cute, but okay."

"You look very cute. With or without the shorts." Patrick smiles down at him, still holding out his hand. "But maybe leave them on for now. You know. While we're in public."

Unbearably warm, whole body singing, David sighs, and takes Patrick's hand.

* * *


	4. that time david and patrick did move

**that time david and patrick did move ******

* * *

"Make it stop, Patrick, please make it stop," David groans, face-first in the mattress, clutching his pillow over his head.

"I don't know what you want me to do, David, climb over the fence, sneak into our neighbor's yard, and kill the rooster?"

"Yes!" David flips around, knocking his pillow to the floor. "Yes, I want you to kill it, bring it home, and roast it in the oven. I've never wanted to eat a cock more in my life."

Patrick laughs beside him in bed, and he doesn't sound nearly as tired as David feels. David loves their new house — their adorable, perfect, little house — but why did it have to come with _neighbors_? And must those neighbors have fucking chickens?! He never had to deal with this in the city. He had neighbors, sure, but he's pretty sure he never even saw any of them, having an entire floor to himself. And if any of them had farm animals, well it was probably for reasons he wouldn't want to know about.

David reaches down for his pillow, punches it into a ball, and tries to bury his face in it. For three days, the neighbor's new rooster has woken them up before dawn and, presumably, kept screaming its tiny head off all day until sundown when they're home again from the store. It wasn't like this when they'd first moved in a few weeks ago. The neighboring homes aren't close, spread out with acres of land and fields between, something he and Patrick had both liked. Plenty of space to be alone together. No shared rooms or shared walls. No worries of being interrupted or overheard.

Until their neighbors got chickens, and chicken voices carry, apparently.

He feels Patrick shift on the bed, and then his arm slides around David's waist, fingers playing with the drawstring of his pants. "Since we're up…" Patrick says, nosing along David's hairline.

David presses his head deeper into his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. Perhaps he can will himself back to sleep. "I'm not up."

"I can get you up." Patrick mouths over his nape, hot breath escaping down into the loose collar of David's t-shirt. David shivers at the sensation, and Patrick's hand slips inside his pants. He's kissing David's neck and shoulder, three days' worth of stubble growth tickling against David's skin. "All this talk about... eating cock."

David pushes his hips back into Patrick, feeling him hard already, then keeps pushing until he can roll onto his back and glimpse Patrick through half-closed eyes. "Fine. But I'm sleeping and you're doing all the work."

"Such a sweet-talker," Patrick murmurs, finding David's mouth and sucking his bottom lip. He moves lower, onto David's jaw, neck, collarbones, pushing up his t-shirt to lave a nipple with his tongue, bites down none-too-gently, and continues his path lower. David lifts his hips so Patrick can remove his pants, but that's as much as he's willing to do right now. He's still soft when Patrick takes him into his mouth and the white noise of pleasure buzzing through his body is enough to drown out all other sound. David could definitely fall asleep like this.

* * *


	5. that time patrick accidentally hired a sex worker not a massage therapist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I had some feelings after the finale. If you also had feelings about sex work and the safety and well-being of massage therapists, this might be the fic for you! (If you had feelings about or issues with sexual activities outside of a relationship, and all parties being fine with that, then this is not the chapter for you.)
> 
> Anyway, I fixed this more to my liking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to whetherwoman and all the Rosebuddies!

**that time patrick accidentally hired a sex worker _not_ a massage therapist**

* * *

Stevie can't even describe the sound that just squeaked out of her throat because this is _incredible_! "See, this is what Ray should be filming," she stage whispers as Patrick and David ignore her.

"He gave you a happy ending? On our wedding day?"

"Honey, you hired a sex worker, what did you think you were paying for?"

"No I didn't! I hired a masseur!"

Stevie tips her head at that, another tiny noise squeaking past her lips. David does exactly the same thing, with more of a high-pitched whine. They exchange a look over Patrick's shoulder.

"Was he a licensed massage therapist?" she asks, fairly certain she knows the answer.

"I—I don't—why?" Patrick flails.

David's face scrunches up. "Yeah," he says, in his elongated exaggerated fashion, "there shouldn't be a difference but... there are certain connotations?"

"Like wha—" Patrick starts and stops, his mouth still flapping open, but it all seems to click in his mind at once and he throws his hands up. "He came highly recommended! I got his name and contact info from Jocelyn."

The sound that Stevie just made was possibly only audible to bats. David's mouth falls open, his eyes going wide.

"Yeah," Stevie says, covering her mouth and muffling her laughter. "That would explain it."

Patrick looks at her. "Why? What?"

"OH MY GOD," David yells. "Are you saying I was touched by the same hands that have touched _Roland_?!"

She can't help it, Stevie snorts laughter into her palm, doubling over with the force of it. "Yep. Yes," she struggles to say. "Basically one degree of separation from your dick to Roland's."

"Okay, we can do without the color commentary, thanks." David waves a hand in her direction like swatting at flies.

"Now he learns the correct sports terminology," Patrick mutters, pacing across the floor. He turns back to David. "At no point was that discussed. All I did was leave an envelope full of cash and a note to take very good care of you—and now, yeah, I can see how that was interpreted." Patrick slumps down onto the arm of the sofa, sighing.

Stevie looks slyly over at David, who is still freaking out about potential sexually transmitted Rolandness. "Okay, but was it good at least?" she asks.

" _Do not_ answer that," Patrick says immediately. Then, "Was it?"

"Well, it _was_ relaxing until this new information came to light! Now I need to shower thirteen more times!"

At that, Patrick's face cracks, his mouth curving into that teasing smile that Stevie has become familiar with. He laughs, just a short chuckle. "I did want you relaxed."

"Okay, well, it's backfiring now," David says, sounding like he could hyperventilate at any moment, but Patrick reaches a hand out to him and draws him close.

"Hey," he says, looking up at David with a soft, fond smile. A smile Stevie has only seen on Patrick, and only when Patrick is looking at David. "This is going to make for a very strange story one day."

"Oh, no," David says, shaking his head, "we will not be telling anyone about this."

Patrick laughs, nodding, and David glares at Stevie.

"I can keep this one to myself," she promises. "Probably."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. These are my feelings. None of my feelings were about David and Patrick's relationship. I believe they are in love and stable and have had all of the appropriate conversations about sexual activities that partners should have. Anyway, they're _married_ and they're _doing great!_ I did have issue with the "masseur" and the misunderstanding there. The term "masseur" for example (or "masseuse" for women) is no longer widely used in the massage therapy community due to certain connotations. Treat your massage therapist with respect and dignity. They are not sex workers (unless they explicitly are - who should also be treated with respect and dignity) and you are not paying them for sex. Do not ask them about "happy endings", do not joke about it, do not perpetuate the stereotype that it's part of the job and can be expected if you pay extra. It's not funny. Also, remember to leave a generous tip, and that nothing is a euphemism.
> 
> (PS. I don't think Dan had ill-intentions when he wrote this, and I assume the "masseur" was in fact supposed to be explicitly a sex worker. I just wish they'd actually said so. There were also some consent issues, but I'm taking it as read that David consented when he thought this was what Patrick set up for him.)


	6. that time the brewers cried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding of the century? I posted this a while back on tumblr, just adding it here for posterity. (Slightly edited from the original version.)

**that time the brewers cried**

* * *

Clint and Marcy flank Patrick, one of their hands on each of his elbows, ready to escort him down the aisle. Their sweet boy, all grown up and ready to begin the next stage of his life. Marcy tries to pull in a full, shuddering breath and surreptitiously wipe the wetness from around her eyes.

"Mom, don't cry," Patrick says, his voice unsteady. “If you cry, you'll make Dad cry, and if we're all crying when we walk in, David will start crying, and he'll be upset if he's all red and puffy in the pictures."

“I'm not crying," Marcy cries. “Just don't look at me."

“Okay, okay." Patrick sniffs, draws in a deep breath, and blows it out. “We'll just take a minute. We're fine." On his other side, Clint moves a little jerkily. “Dad?"

“I'm good," he chokes out, wiping his eyes. “I'm fine."

Patrick laughs, a wet, shivery thing, and Marcy can't stop the tears from falling. Her boy looks so happy. He's so, so happy, it's all she's ever wanted for him.

“David's going to kill us."

* * *


End file.
